Lightning bugs are dancing like the pros,

and flashing like the stars,

while we’re entertained thru the windows of my car

at “The Spot” at Longview Lake,

you know the one I’m talkin bout.

Your head is on my shoulder,

and the white moon with black blotches

is watching us in the middle of the sky,

and you’re watching me.

I have no plans for funny business,

but we are young and free

one last time

where our sky was built,

where dark clouds are engulfing the moon tonight

before adulting oppresses our lives,

and we’re Serious Jones,

making serious moves,

paying serious bills,

cooking serious meals,

and prayfully we’re even happy still.

Watching the clouds subside,

and one thing’s clear:

the moon is always there

as a beacon of light,

but sometimes the clouds disappear,

sometimes the clouds are never there

to begin with.

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